


you're always looking for someone (I can be your someone)

by applecidersun



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Alternate Universe - Office, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Mentioned Boo Seungkwan, anyway read it you probably won't regret it, everyone except jun does newspapering, how does one tag, if you tag well props to you, its tagged teen for cursing btw, jun is a fool, junhao are awkward, shua appears for like a second, so is minghao, wait i mention jihoon too but he never appears, wow i really suck at tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 07:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16593095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecidersun/pseuds/applecidersun
Summary: Junhui comes weekly.Or, the one where Jun apparently has unlimited quantities of money and just keeps showing up at Seventeen Times HQ to put in personal ads.





	you're always looking for someone (I can be your someone)

**Author's Note:**

> based off the tumblr prompt "you come in weekly to put in a personal ad and I just noticed that your “looking for” criteria fits my exact description---oh.."
> 
> thanks to all my beta readers! you were infinitely helpful :)

Junhui comes weekly.

 

Minghao, frankly, is not quite sure where Junhui even came from. _Seventeen Times_ isn’t even a popular newspaper. It’s not even a _good_ newspaper. It’s the kind that shows up at your door on Sundays, the kind you don’t remember subscribing to, the kind you don’t know how to stop.

 

In short, it’s the kind that appears in the recycling bin, every week, without fail.

 

Junhui comes on Friday evenings, always with some ad in hand. Minghao, unfortunately, is always the one who receives him.

 

(Seriously, who even _goes_ to a publishing firm in person to put an actual, physical paper into another human being’s hands? Who pays _weekly_ for some ad to be fireplace-tinder-paper?

 

Junhui does, apparently.)

 

The first time goes like this:

 

“What the fuck,” Minghao says, mouth half full of Seungkwan’s chicken sandwich. It’s not very good. He’ll have to let Seungkwan know that while he _is_ an excellent gossip writer, his sandwich choice is nothing to gossip about.

 

“Hi,” the stranger at the door says brightly. He’s wearing a long gray coat and Minghao’s mouth runs dry at once. Possibly not because the stranger was _attractive_ , per se (he was _very_ attractive), but because seriously, _this sandwich_.

 

“Hello,” Minghao says, instead of voicing these thoughts. “What are you here for?”

 

The stranger shoves his hand into his pocket and produces a piece of paper. “I-”

 

“Oh my god,” Minghao says. “Don’t tell me you’re a new intern. If Seungcheol hired _another_ intern I will actually quit. Half of the employees aren’t even employees. They’re _interns_. Wait, is Seungkwan even an employee? Wasn’t he an intern? _What?_ When did he become the gossip writer and editor? Why is he _both_ of those? Wonwoo, is Seungkwan an intern?”

 

Wonwoo, from a floor up, shouts something that sounds like, _“What?”_

 

“Never mind,” Minghao shouts back, then turns to the stranger. “Are you a new intern?”

 

“No,” the stranger says, looking highly amused. Minghao peers suspiciously at him.

 

“I’m here to put in an ad,” the stranger clarifies.

 

“We don’t have an ad service,” Minghao says.

 

“Yes we do,” Seungcheol says, conveniently passing by. “Isn’t that Seungkwan’s sandwich? He’s throwing a fit.”

 

Minghao stuffs the rest of the sandwich in his mouth. “What sandwich? Wait, Seungcheol, isn’t Seungkwan an intern? Why is he running the gossip section?”

 

“Minghao,” Seungcheol says. “Just deal with the customer.”

 

“ _Since when did we have an ad service, Seungcheol?_ Answer me, asshat!”

 

Seungcheol doesn’t respond. Minghao exhales and pinches the bridge of his nose.

 

“Okay, I’ll take the ad,” Minghao says to the stranger. “Do you know how much you’re supposed to pay? I don’t.”

 

“Here,” the stranger says, shoving twenty thousand won into Minghao’s hands. “This might be overkill, the ad for your personal ads said fifteen thousand but I don’t have any change.”

 

Minghao blinks. “We only offer fifteen thousand won for a personal ad?”

 

The stranger freezes. Minghao kind of wishes he didn’t. Their hands are still very much touching. He can’t decide whether he likes it or not.

 

“Am I underpaying?” The stranger asks. “I don’t have any other money on me, sorry. Spent it all on sweets. Can I pay you with a kiss?”

 

“Just-” Minghao sighs. “Please just get out.”

 

The stranger throws a wink in Minghao’s general direction. If his wink was an actual, physical thing, Minghao thinks it might have flown past him and into the company logo hanging on the opposite wall. Good riddance.

 

The stranger says, “Do I at least get my future husband’s name before he throws me out?”

 

“Xu Minghao,” he says, because, well. No good reason. He didn’t think about it.

 

(Cute guys make him weak. Not that he’ll ever admit it, even to himself.)

 

“Wen Junhui,” the stranger says, blows a kiss, and breezes out the door. Minghao hopes he trips and smashes his stupidly beautiful face on the carpet.

 

He pretends he isn’t blatantly lying to himself and goes back to work.

\--

“Oh yeah, I know Joonhwi,” Wonwoo says while Minghao’s in the middle of his rant. “We’re buddies. I was the one who told him about our advertising.”

 

“I didn’t know you had friends outside of work,” Minghao deadpans. He takes a sip of Wonwoo’s coffee. The mug is covered in cats. Minghao decides not to comment on this.

 

“Shut up,” Wonwoo says. “Anyway, he decided that he might as well support our paper. Not sure where he gets the money, to be perfectly honest. I thought you two would get along.”

 

“Why.”

 

“That’s supposed to be a question,” Wonwoo says airily. “Anyway, you’re both Chinese, aren’t you?”

 

“Just because we’re both Chinese doesn’t mean we’ll get along,” Minghao says.

 

“And he’s kind of your type,” Wonwoo says.

 

“I don’t have a type.”

 

“Your type is hot guys,” Wonwoo says. “Jun is objectively, very hot.”

 

“Mingyu’s objectively very hot too,” Minghao says. “You don’t see me drooling after him.”

 

“That’s because I’d probably kill you,” Wonwoo says.

 

“You could try,” Minghao says, hopping off Wonwoo’s desk. “I have nunchucks in my cubicle.”

 

“That’s such a weird thing to say,” Wonwoo says as Minghao leaves. “You could just say ‘ _I have a black belt_.’ What am I supposed to fear, your nunchucks or you?”

 

Minghao shrugs. “I don’t _need_ to tell you I have a black belt. You found out last month when you _tried to replace every picture on my computer with Kermit._ ”

 

“Okay, listen-”

\--

Jun comes in the next week too. Minghao pretends not to be thrilled. Not even a little bit. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

 

(Him? Excited to see the bane of his existence? Absolutely not. He _despises_ Jun, of course.)

 

“Here’s my ad,” Jun says, handing Minghao the paper. “And yeah, I looked up ad prices online and you’re definitely selling yourself short so here’s a hundred thousand won, wow this is more painful than I thought it would be-”

 

“Just keep your money,” Minghao says. “It’s not like anyone reads our newspaper anyway.”

 

“No,” Jun says, sounding very much like he’s lying. “Plenty of people read your newspaper. Like me.”

 

“You’re friends with Wonwoo,” Minghao says. “You don’t count.”

 

“I know someone who keeps up with the newspaper,” Jun says, sounding strained.

 

Minghao waits.

 

“He only reads the gossip section,” Jun says reluctantly.

 

“God _damn_ ,” Minghao says. “Thanks for reminding me. I never did find out if Seungkwan was an intern.”

 

“Let me know how that goes,” Jun says with a laugh. “But are you sure you don’t-”

 

Minghao closes Jun’s fingers over the bills. “I don’t want your money. The reminder to ask about Seungkwan is enough.”

 

He avoids Jun’s eyes.

 

“Well, thanks then,” Jun says, voice unnaturally high. “I guess I’ll just go buy more ramen than I need.”

 

“That’s a good plan,” Minghao says.

 

Jun shifts on one foot. Minghao stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor. He feels very uncomfortable. As in, he kind of wants Jun to leave. If he doesn’t, Minghao will almost certainly say something stupid.

 

“Right, you should get going,” Minghao prompts gently.

 

“I should,” Jun agrees.

 

“...”

 

“I heard you were Chinese,” Jun says. “And I need dinner. Any-”

 

“I’m not going out to dinner with you,” Minghao says before Jun can finish his sentence. It’s not that he _doesn’t_ want to go out to dinner (he does). It’s just that he doesn’t think he can physically _survive_ going to dinner with Jun, a Very Attractive, Very Nice, Probably Homosexual Male. Minghao hopes his gaydar isn’t lying to him.

 

“-recommendations?”

 

Minghao wonders if he’s dehydrated. His throat feels very dry. He knew it. He _knew_ it. He did say something stupid.

 

“I mean,” he says quickly. “I _would_ go to dinner. It’d be a delight, but Jihoon will skin me alive if I don’t get my part done in time.”

 

“Still waiting for the recommendations,” Jun says weakly.

 

“I really _would_ like to have dinner,” Minghao says lamely. “So don’t take that personally. Right, recommendations. Uh. Could I text you? I—uh—I can’t come up with anything off the top of my mind.”

 

He does _not_ mention he can’t think of any restaurants because his brain has fried at his sheer _stupidity._ He also does not mention that this is a very, very obvious ploy to get Jun’s number.

 

“That’d be great,” Jun says. He leaves. Minghao pretends Jun doesn’t take his dignity with him. He’s getting quite good at that.

\---

They don’t end up going to dinner.

 

It’s sad and Minghao berates himself more than once, but what can you do? It’s too awkward now, but it’s in the past.

 

Jun comes a third time, a fourth time, a fifth time, a sixth time-

 

The point is—he comes a lot.

 

There’s always an ad in hand. And twenty thousand won. He insists on paying more every time, and Minghao refuses him every time, always for a different reason.

 

(He never does find out if Seungkwan’s an intern. Everyone in the office seems to have collectively decided to dodge that question.)

 

It becomes routine. Minghao starts hanging out around the main lobby Friday evenings just before Jun arrives. Someone’s always conveniently passing by for some reason. They raise an eyebrow, but say nothing. Minghao wonders if that’s for the better or for the worst.

 

“You’re always the one receiving me,” Jun says one day. Minghao almost doesn’t hear because _jeez_ , how unfair is it, that he looks good in a stupid. puffy. thick. ugly. black. winter. coat.

 

He kind of wants to scream.

 

“Hm? Yeah,” Minghao says. “I’m always in the lobby when you come around. We never actually use any of interns as receptionists for some odd reason so I just stay here and eat all the candy. Want one?”

 

He tosses a wrapped chocolate at Jun, who fumbles to catch it. He does not catch it. The chocolate bounces pitifully of the stupid coat and onto the ground. Minghao’s heart does _not_ thump pathetically.

 

“At least it’s wrapped,” Jun says.

 

“That it is,” Minghao agrees.

 

“Hey,” Jun says, with a mouth full of chocolate. “I have a question. Do you read my ads?”

 

“No,” Minghao says. “I figured they were private or something.”

 

“I’m putting it in a newspaper,” Jun says. “Why would they be private?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Minghao says.

 

“You seemed so smart too,” Jun bemoans. “Such deep thoughts...such wisdom...and absolutely no brain. Were you just quoting others and passing it off as your own words?”

 

“Fuck off,” Minghao says. “I am original and wise and creative. Just because I made a teeny- _tiny_ mistake does not mean I am not amazing.”

 

“I can concede that point,” Jun says.

 

(Seriously, what is _up_ with Minghao’s heart?)

 

Minghao waits for the punchline, the one he’s heard a thousand times ( _“you’re not as amazing as me,” Jun says, framing his face with his hands_ ). It doesn’t happen.

 

“Read the ad,” Jun says. He winks- it looks more like his face seizing up today. Minghao wonders why.

 

Jun, with a toss of his head ( _so melodramatic, why does Minghao feel so lightheaded?_ ) pushes the glass doors.

 

They don’t budge.

 

“You pull them,” Minghao says.

 

“I know that,” Jun says, quite obviously mortified. “I’m just trying to be funny. Ha ha ha. Laugh, Minghao.”

 

“Ha ha,” Minghao says dryly. “You don’t need to be that embarrassed, although I would’ve thought that after two months you would’ve known it was a pull door.”

 

“Right,” Jun says. He pulls the doors out. Minghao bites back a smile.

 

 _Read the ad_ , Jun had said. Minghao unfolds the paper (yeesh, why did the stupid boy fold the paper this time? So much work).

 

_Possibly The Only Reader Of Seventeen Times, Wen Junhui, Looking For Potential Mate._

 

_Must be male, be named “Xu Minghao”, be an excellent photographer, work at Seventeen Times, etc._

 

_If you fit all the criteria above, fucking date me. Or something. You can say no. I’m not forcing you to date me. At least text me? Think about it?_

 

_DON’T ACTUALLY PUT THIS IN THE PAPER PLEASE I BEG YOU SPARE ME SOME DIGNITY._

 

Minghao’s mouth goes dry at once. He brings his gaze upwards, to the doors that Jun had failed to pull open just a few seconds ago. Jun is nowhere in sight. Minghao folds the paper back up and unfolds it again. He smooths the creases with a finger, all while blankly looking off into the distance. He reads the note—the ad, really—he reads it again. Just to make sure.

 

The words are still there, due to _some_ trick of nature.

 

With shaky hands, Minghao texts Jun.

 

**Xiao Ba**

_you can’t,,,just do it like this_

_I want a real confession come backkkk_

 

**actual bane of my existence**

_uh_

_what_

_what does this mean_

 

**Xiao Ba**

_ok_

_did you or did u not hand me an ad for a date_

_and have the specific requirements for your_

_uh_

_date_

_maybe_

_fit me exactly?_

 

**actual bane of my existence**

_uh_

_maybe_

 

**Xiao Ba**

_come back here. now._

\---

Jun comes back. The sun is barely above the horizon, and the blinding white company lights have turned on outside. Minghao opens the doors for Jun.

 

“Okay,” Jun says. “Why am I here?”

 

“Because I refuse your stupid confession,” Minghao says, and immediately feels guilty at the sheer panic that flies across Jun’s face.

 

“I accept your love,” Minghao tacks on quickly. “I—uh—I—oh god, this is the cheesiest thing _ever_ , I thought your _confession_ was cheesy what am I doing?—I like you too. But we’re going to do this properly. Not saying that your ad wasn’t _proper_ but you know what? I think you could’ve done better.”

 

“I probably could have,” Jun admits. “Wait—you mean it? You like me? I like you too. Like, I _like like_ you.”

 

“Yeah I figured,” Minghao says and coughs. “Sorry. Not romantic. Let’s just. You. Ask me to be your boyfriend. Out loud and in person.”

 

“Xu Minghao,” Jun says, and hesitates. He squints. “Is that a _moth_ ? Wait, sorry that’s off track. This is so—unbelievably—awkward— _ah_ I’m going to die.”

 

“Yeah I feel you,” Minghao says. “Just figured we should probably get this sorted out, uh, in person.”

 

“Okay,” Jun says, and then sighs. “Could you maybe—could you maybe start?”

 

“Love you too,” Minghao grumbles, and Jun half sighs half coughs in what’s probably a cringe attack (it’s endearment). “Okay, so. Jun. I’ve known you for like a few months. I’ve only ever talked to you when you were delivering ads. But I’d—I’d, uh, really like to get to know you better. And also date you.”

 

“I’d like to date you too,” Jun says. “So—are we boyfriends now?”

 

“I guess,” Minghao says.

 

“Okay,” Jun says, and licks his lips. “Okay. Can I kiss you maybe?”

 

“I’d like that,” Minghao says, and leans in.

\---

“Oh my _god_ ,” Joshua says. It’s half past ten, Minghao’s packing up to go home, and Jun’s just kind of hanging around. “Did you two _finally_ get your stuff sorted out?”

  
Minghao turns. “What? What do you mean, _finally_?”

 

“His ads have been about you for a few _weeks_ now,” Joshua says. “Always ‘ _blah blah blah Minghao look at my ad and love me’_ . I’m surprised it didn’t take you longer. Don’t worry Jun, I didn’t publish any of them. I’m not _that_ mean. Minghao, how did it take you this long?”

  
“You shut it,” Minghao says half heartedly.

 

Joshua shrugs. “Alright. Stay safe kids.” He winks. Minghao groans and sags into his chair.

 

“I love you,” Jun chirps. Something crashes from a shelf behind Minghao.

 

“I love you too,” Minghao says, almost tiredly. He runs his hands through his hair, and tries not to give in to _the feelings_. It doesn’t work.

 

Alright. Whatever. Minghao can deal with loving Jun. He can even deal with _love love loving_ Jun. He can _probably_ deal with the warm as fuck feeling he gets whenever he, a touch starved millennial, touches Jun, the love of his fucking life.

 

He’s fine.

 

“I love you _more_ ,” Jun says, as flirty as ever.

 

Minghao is not fine.

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: the doc I have this saved in is called "you're always looking yeehaw". why? we just don't know
> 
> happy belated birthday to the8 though! my favorite pastime is calling him "thate" as in. theight. congrats myunghoe. 
> 
> hopefully this was worth all your wasted time! thanks for reading :D


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